Of Energy and Links
by gabo0
Summary: One-shot. Slash M/M. Slightly AU, Post-war. "But he wasn’t happy, for he knew what this meant. That was what scared him. His life was about to be taken from him. Taken so he could be Harry Potter’s lifetime battery."


**Title:** Of energy and links

**Archive:** LJ

**Rating:** R

**Pairing/Main Character: **Harry Potter/Blaise Zabini

**Warnings:** Slash M/M. Some spoilers. Fanon!Zabini. Slightly AU, Post-war

**Length:** 6477 words. One-shot (divided in two parts due to space limit per post).

**Time Period:**, last year.

**Summary:** Harry Potter was dying. They needed a way to keep him alive. To give him energy. _Life_ energy. They needed a _battery_ and Blaise Zabini was the only one who could do it. Compatibility was always _there_.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own any character.

* * *

**Of Energy and Links**

_by randomicicle_

It was after the war. Harry Potter, savior of the world, was dying on a bed at Saint Mungo's. His heart was giving up, his brain was giving up. His whole body was screaming for release, but the mediwizards wouldn't let go. Nobody would let _him_ go. He wasn't going to die on them. He was going to live. He _had_ to live. For he was the hero here, he couldn't die. Not after the war on a bed at Saint Mungo's.

That was the reason Blaise was sitting there. Lonely and scared. Nobody would tell him anything yet. Harry probably wouldn't approve of it. But he was being blackmailed into it. His mother wasn't going to trial so he would do it. And he had given in, like Harry's body. He had accepted, of course, since he couldn't get his mother to rot in jail. But he wasn't happy, for he knew what this meant. What the impact this would have in his life. That was what scared him. His life was about to be taken from him. Taken so he could be Harry Potter's lifetime battery.

*

Harry wasn't sure what was happening. He just remembered waking up surrounded by doctors. And a boy next to him. He could barely see him, but he recognized his hair. So pretty it was. So pretty he thought it was a girl at first, if he hadn't seen him before the war and remembered him from those times. For, during the war, he actually didn't see many people. But he thought it was pretty. The hair, of course. It reminded him of his mom's in the picture. Straight and long and reddish. Brown reddish. Such a pretty color, thought Harry.

And then, he fainted again.

*

The next time he woke up, he stayed up. Sleep wouldn't welcome him again. And now he couldn't see the boy. Nor the light that surrounded him the last time. There was only McGonagall on the room, looking at him surprised; then, beaming. She stood up and went to the bed flicking her wand on the way. He heard footsteps. He felt fear. He was scared now but didn't know why.

And then the door opened. McGonagall's hand was on his shoulder. He trembled a little, feeling apprehensive at her, feeling uncomfortable. He wondered why really because she always had made him feel good. Well, not really, she actually hadn't had _any_ effect before, only when he was eleven and she was intimidating.

Harry looked at the door and saw two men walk in. Shacklebolt, he recognized, and someone else he couldn't see very well. And there he was. Behind them, looking as if he was hiding. The boy. The _man_, really, for he was his age. Even when he looked much younger, very slim and child-looking. And he looked scared. So scared that Harry wondered if he himself was safe here. The small smile in McGonagall's face made his brain tell him he was, but his heart felt something different. He tried to sit, but the hand on his shoulder forced him down gently.

"No, Harry. It's better for you to sit. You better stay calm, your heart rate has increased and you're just recovering," said McGonagall.

Harry didn't feel like that. He didn't feel sick. He just felt as if waking up from a very, _very_ long night.

He glanced at her, asking her what was happening. He found that using his voice was hard, as if he hadn't spoken for ages. Probably he hadn't. Now that he thought about it, the last thing he remembered was Voldemort. Voldemort's _wand_. Pointing at him under a smiling reptilian face. A horrible face. And then light again. A light so blinding that he'd closed his eyes and lunched forward. He remembered his scream. More screams, more voices that didn't belong to him. A crash. A red light. Sparks.

And darkness.

"You're safe now, Harry. We made you come back now."

Harry wasn't sure where he had come back from, but he wasn't going to ask. He glanced at the intriguing man, the boy behind the Aurors. He didn't look like one and Harry was sure he wasn't since it couldn't have been as long as for him to graduate as one. The man looked at him for a second, but then avoided his eyes.

"This here is Blaise Zabini, a schoolmate of yours." The unknown man spoke when he saw where his sight was set. Harry didn't even look at him. He was feeling furious. He wanted to know what had happened to him. Why it was so hard to talk? Why couldn't he sit up? Why was he _still_ on a bed? What had happened to his friends? What happened with the war? With Voldemort?

He knew of course. The war was over. If not, he wouldn't be here. He would be on the field. Unless…

_That's why they're so happy I'm back_, he thought. _They want me to keep fighting_.

"The war is over," said the boy.

Harry looked at him more intensely. He seemed to be shivering. Everyone in the room looked oddly at him and Blaise blushed faintly. He wouldn't raise his face. It was McGonagall who broke the silence.

"The war's been over for over a month now. You won. You saved us. You killed Voldemort and finished that nightmare, Harry. That's why we couldn't lose you, we _owed_ too much to you. We made you come back for that, we were very grateful. We love you, _everybody_ does."

The emotion in McGonagall's voice hurt Harry. He knew he hadn't done anything. Anything special, at least. Anything different from everybody else. He wasn't any braver, any smarter than them. And they brought _him_ back. Why? Why not bring back everyone then. And why this boy was here?

Blaise was now looking at him, shyly. And afraid. And ashamed. And extremely _pained_. He looked as if he was in pain, but why? Why was he here _and_ in pain?

He tried to ask but couldn't. The adults took his silence as a sign to leave. So one of them, Shacklebolt, turned to Blaise and whispered something. The boy looked slightly green and turned to Harry. He stayed when the three adults left. He stayed and sat next to Harry. And stared without blinking at the floor.

He seemed nervous.

"Why are you here?"

"Because I have to," answered Blaise

"Why do you have to?" asked Harry

"We're linked," answered the boy. "They needed you back, _wanted_ to have you back. So they got to me."

Harry didn't understand, but it pained him. For Blaise looked miserable. And he was still looking ashamed and hurt. And Harry couldn't bear it and it pained him too.

"Stop it," said Blaise rather hard. "Stop feeling _bad_."

Harry blinked

"How do you–?"

"I can feel it. It's part of the deal. Comes with the package," he added rather viciously. "I act as your battery, so you can have part of my life energy. A side effect is me feeling what you feel."

Now Harry was horrified.

"What have they done?" he murmured enraged.

Blaise looked more miserable, if that was possible. Harry had heard of this, but it was forbidden. There was a law that there was to be no magical bounds between two individuals to keep one of them alive. Unless, of course, both parts agreed on a written contract that they were performing the spell voluntarily and even then was hard to get the permit.

Harry hadn't signed anything. He couldn't have, being unconscious.

"They made an exception," said Blaise, guessing once again what was going through his mind. "You were the savior of the world; they didn't need your permission to save _you_ because they assumed you wanted to be saved. They believe you want to live and I don't doubt it either. So now you live. Be glad, you don't have to _plug_ me anywhere, I'm a battery that doesn't need to be charged."

Harry glared at the boy. His wit wasn't funny and he could feel the bitterness on his voice.

"Can you read my mind?" asked Harry.

"No."

He wasn't sure if that was true, but he would believe him for the time being. He wasn't sure of many things. He didn't want this boy to be so near him. But he didn't want him to leave either. He felt weird. A stranger on his own body. He raised his hand and took some of that brown reddish hair between his fingers.

Blaise looked at him oddly and retreated.

"Come here," said Harry.

No answer.

"Come."

Blaise moved near. He leaned forward on his chair, elbows almost on the bed. Harry touched that hair again and sighed, feeling suddenly a lot calmer. He wondered why he was so enthralled with it. Why Blaise was letting him touch him like this. Touch him almost like petting him. _Almost_. Not quite.

"There's more to it, isn't it?"

Blaise nodded but stayed silent. Harry sighed again and let go. The boy looked at him and it was painful again. So painful that Harry had to look away.

He tried to sleep but he was too shocked. And sad and furious for what was done to him. To Blaise. And his anger rose when, pretending to be asleep, he felt Blaise's form shaking. Little gasps at first. A sharp intake of breath. A sob.

The boy was crying.

Harry felt sick.

*

"I don't get it!"

Harry sighed. Ron was so useless some times, especially when it came to this level of Spells. Hermione was glaring at him. It was the sixth time the redhead had said that in the last half hour and she was tired of explaining. She sighed rather annoyed and Ron looked offended.

"You don't have to help me if you don't _want_ to, Hermione."

"Oh, don't be silly, Ron. You'd never finish without my help," she said arrogantly.

They started their usual banter and Harry stopped paying attention to them. He knew it was their way to let go of all their pent-up feelings for each other. So he wouldn't intervene like he used to do. He went back to his own parchment but couldn't concentrate. His mind kept drifting, as it had been doing the last couple of hours. To the boy.

_The man_, he reminded himself. Blaise was a _man_. A young adult, like he was. They were all back at Hogwarts to finish their last year. It wasn't going to be so hard, after all. A couple of tests, less student body, more time the teachers had for each student. Harry felt a little cynic today, so he would say it was better.

But it wasn't really. The halls were deserted, the castle looked grim. Empty. Devoid of life and joy and _magic_. Everyone mourning their losses. Their _casualties_ of battle. Everyone knew, at least, someone that had died on the war. Friend, family, lover. Teachers that died for the Light, some for the Dark, some because they were on the way. And Harry felt guilty.

But he wasn't really thinking about that because his friends made his time easier. They didn't blame him for any of the deaths. He was the only one who blamed himself. He was the only one who saw himself guilty of all the losses. That's why it was so hard for him to be at Hogwarts. And also because seeing so few students of his age, reminded him that his generation was the one who suffered the most. And most of them because they were battling for him. Or against him, but he was the reason anyway. And it made him sick.

He glanced at Blaise. He was living in Gryffindor now. After getting out of the hospital and returning to school, where everyone was back almost at the same time they did, Blaise was transferred from Slytherin to his House. Why, he could only guess the truth. Probably because of the link. They said it was because there weren't enough Slytherins to keep it a House. They might dissolve it, they said, but of course they wouldn't. There were still Slytherins, very few though. And Blaise looked sullen every time one of them greeted him. And it pained Harry, to see him bounded to him in this way.

Harry looked at him and wondered, would he care so much for me if it wasn't for the spell? Probably not. Probably he wouldn't have my stuff in order just because he knows I like it. Probably I wouldn't have his help in doing homework whenever I need it –for the Slytherin would stop everything he was doing to help me. Probably I wouldn't even have seen that smile that would only appear when we're alone, when we're relaxed and talking about him. Always about Blaise and his life and his friends and Slytherin. Because even when they argued about Slytherin, Blaise's face looked so proud and happy that Harry would give in and agree with him. All the time.

But now Blaise was laying there on the couch, reading a novel. He couldn't see the title, but it must be very interesting since the boy hadn't stop reading for several hours now. Ever since they came back from lunch. That was almost 6 hours ago. And he hadn't stopped once. At all. Harry was getting annoyed. Blaise would always glance at him whenever they were near, giving him a small nod, a faint smile. But nothing today. Absolutely nothing. As if Harry didn't even existed. Every once in a while he would laugh softly and raise his eyes, but never looked at Harry.

Harry couldn't take it anymore.

"Blaise," he called.

The boy raised his head.

"Yes?" He answered with an arched eyebrow. "What is it, Harry?" He asked when Harry wouldn't say anything.

"How come that book is so interesting? You never read anything before."

Ron and Hermione had stopped their quarrel and were back at their assignments. They looked at Harry and, when Hermione grunted, Ron snickered.

"It's about people like him, Harry."

"Shut up, Ron," said Hermione

Harry didn't get it, but it was enough the glare Blaise gave the redhead and the force with which he closed the book and stuffed it on his bag to make him really curious.

"What is it about?"

"Nothing," snapped Blaise as he stood to go.

"Tell me, Blaise."

The boy stopped and glared. He crossed his arms across his chest and _glared_. Ron snickered again. Hermione furrowed his brow and poked him.

"Stop being an ass, Ron. It's stupid."

"What is it?" asked this time Harry, more demanding. Hermione sighed and explained.

"It's a novel, Harry. By Alexias Commery. _The journey of Ellion_?"

_Ah_. He got it now. A novel about servants and slaves and a journey for freedom. A classic epic in magical literature. Blaise was blushing fiercely, but Harry couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or anger at Ron's comment. His lips were on a tight line and his shoulders looked tense while he glowered at Ron, this one still grinning viciously.

"See, Harry, it's about _expendables_ as him."

"Ron," he snapped at the same time Hermione hit him in the head.

"Don't be an ass, Ron. Blaise isn't _expendable_ at all; he actually made a big sacrifice. And he has more brains than you, and more _tact_ than to say something like that." Hermione said angrily. It was to be expected considering she even stood up for the house elves.

"Now you're defending him? He didn't _sacrifice_; he did it so his Death Eater mother wouldn't go to Azkaban!"

"Ron!"

They all went silent. Blaise paled. Hermione looked agitated and Ron realized now that he'd screwed up. He said something he wasn't supposed to. Something Harry didn't know that was making him see red. Harry turned to Blaise.

"Is that true?"

Harry felt some stares from the room and looked around. There were indeed some eyes, but they turned as soon as they felt his gaze. Blaise paled some more and started for the stairs. Hermione called him, but he wouldn't stop. Harry followed him, angry. Mad. _Furious_. They got into the 7th year room and Seamus got the message when Harry looked at him. He and Dean fled from the room as soon as they could.

When the door closed behind them, Harry stood on the middle, waiting for Blaise to speak up. The boy wouldn't. He had his back turned to Harry, he was looking out the window but Harry was sure he wasn't really looking. He was tense. Stiff. His arms cradled against his chest, one hand near his mouth. His head down.

"Blaise," he called. "Were you coerced?"

The boy said nothing. Harry saw red again.

"Were you?!" he asked again, this time taking a step closer, raising his voice, seeing him tremble and shrink. "So you were," he continued, "you traded yourself for your mother. You decided this prison for yourself instead of Azkaban for her. You _sold_ yourself to them!"

"What was I supposed to do?" cried the Slytherin, turning around. "She wasn't going to survive Azkaban! She was going to _die_. I didn't mind that much."

"You _didn't_ mind that much?"

Blaise looked ashamed.

"I _do_ now," he elaborated. "I mind now that I know how it is. I thought I'd be able to control it. That I could block your feelings and my _anxiety_ to be near you. That I could cheat the spell. I can't."

Harry felt mad for some reason.

"I can _feel_ you, Harry," said Blaise a little weak. His voice trembled and faded. He was in pain. It was hurtful to admit this, Harry knew. He could see it on his eyes.

"You know what that means don't you?" asked Blaise, agitated, breathing faster and looking flustered. "Of course you don't," he snapped, "of course you don't _care_. I don't _feel_, Harry, I just don't. Or didn't. Don't ask me why but it's hard for me. Three months ago, if you asked me about my happiest moment, I'd have lied because I don't have one. As I don't have a saddest moment. I just don't feel like that, my feelings are _flat_. They're always the same. My emotions don't vary, they're stable, contained. Not because I want to or was trained to do so, like you must be thinking, but because they're that way. I'm _cold_. I'm an emotionless person without asking for it."

He stopped his ranting. Harry looked at him, eyed him carefully, looking at his trembling hands, his anxious eyes. Blaise touched his forehead and bite his lip. Fidget with his hands a little. He gave a sigh and kept talking, this time more agitated. This time, as if his mouth couldn't catch up with his brain, with what he wanted to say.

"But now I feel," he uttered, "I _feel_ you. And your emotions bring me _down_. They collide against my emptiness of feeling. I'm devoid of emotions as you're full of them and I don't know how to handle that! You feel too _much_, you carry too much, most of the time for nothing… just to reassure your self-pity and self-disgust and self-anger and all the other things you feel for _yourself_. You are a _feeler_, I'm not. I never was. I don't want to be one. But I have to be now, now that everything you feel bounces to me and makes me want to puke."

Harry was offended.

"I'm scared."

Harry was speechless

"I don't want to feel them," said Blaise in a much softer tone. Almost sad. And sweet, Harry noticed surprising himself.

"I'm scared because I don't know how to _handle_ these emotions. I don't know what to _do_ with them. I can't channel them, I can't stop them. I can't help you nor can I calm you when you're too happy or too sad or too angry. I'm useless. I'm powerless. And it's downright scary. It's _overwhelming_. I don't know what to do," he whispered.

And then Blaise sat heavily on the mattress. Harry wondered how he came here wanting to scold the boy for selling himself for his criminal mother and ended up hearing this painful confession. Probably Blaise needed to say it, needed him to help him carry this burden as he was somewhat carrying Harry's.

"Blaise," he said softly

No answer. So Harry sat next to him and carefully put a hand on his shoulder.

"Blaise," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

Blaise shook his head and sighed. He took a long breath and looked at him, his eyes glossy and reddish. As reddish as it was his hair.

"I shouldn't have told you that. You're a mess now."

Harry realized he indeed was.

Blaise smiled a little sad smile and dropped his gaze again. Harry heard a sob. Like the one in the hospital. Blaise was crying. Again. In front of him. He didn't know what to do, like the other time. But now he thought he was allowed to comfort. Now he _had_ to comfort him, for he was the cause of all these emotions making a mess out of the other. So he did. He put an arm over Blaise's shoulder and held him.

Blaise stiffened. And Harry held him. It was an awkward position but he didn't care. His only concern now was the wreck of a boy that was in his arms. An eighteen-year old _boy_ who didn't know what was to feel before getting this link between them. And so, he held him. He held him as if his life depended on it. Until he'd calmed down. Until he felt Blaise giving in, holding him back, sobbing quietly on Harry's shoulder as if his life also depended on it. And then, Harry felt it. The pain.

But it wasn't his pain. It wasn't _his_ emotion. It was Blaise. Blaise's feelings in him now. And he understood. The link wasn't one-way. He could feel Blaise's feelings too. He should have felt them before but he didn't know what they were for they were too faint. Too subtle. They camouflaged behind his own feelings, his being stronger so they hid the others. But now he felt them, for Blaise's pain was bigger than his own anger.

He didn't know if he should tell Blaise, though. Didn't want to make him fearful, anxious of him being able to feel him now and tell which his feelings were. Differentiate between them both, know what Blaise was feeling as well.

And this also meant something else. Now, Blaise could _feel_. And he wasn't so cold anymore. And Harry was somewhat happy for that.

*

Hogwarts passed faster than expected and soon they were graduating and getting jobs and flats of their own and living away from their parents. Not that Harry had any parents, or most of his generation for that matter since they've died on the war, but buying their own flats made them feel more independent. Harry's own flat wasn't big, but it was enough. A bachelor's apartment on Muggle London, close enough to the Ministry even though he didn't need it since he had the Flu red connected to his chimney.

It was Blaise who looked for it, who found exactly what he wanted. Also, it was Blaise who lived two floors below and who usually would bring in some food and movies and a good story of inside Gringotts to make them laugh. But not tonight. Tonight, Blaise had a gathering. A _gathering_, a not so subtle way to call a party when the person you're talking to isn't invited. Harry was mad, of course, since he thought he was the closest person to Blaise. Actually, he had thought he was the _only_ person near Blaise, completely forgetting that his Slytherin friends (the few ones alive) were still meeting him from time to time.

He was pacing from one corner to another. Ron was there with him, he had called him to distract himself but it was useless and the redhead was getting mad.

"Stop it, mate, you're making me dizzy. I didn't stand up Hermione to see you walking like a caged animal all night," he complained.

Harry glared.

"What is it?" asked his friend. "It's Blaise, isn't it?"

Harry couldn't deny it.

"Oh god, Harry. What is it you're worried about? His _safety_? He's with his friends. I never thought I'd say this but he's a good guy, let him be. He can't be with you all the time."

"I know," Harry grunted.

"So let it be and let's see a movie or some"

Harry sat in front of the TV. He didn't found funny how Ron fiddled with the DVD player for fifteen minutes before he finally got the right button. It always amused him, but not today. He had lost his humor today. He was feeling Blaise, harder than ever, more _excited_ than ever. He had been like that _all_ day. Excited, agitated, worried, but in a good way. Almost joyful and happy and _eagerly_ waiting. He hadn't even call Harry in the morning to check on him, like he always did. Like the link made him do.

They were already in the middle of the movie, but the huge explosion didn't even catch his eye. Instead, he flinched. He got angry. He was furious. He felt something huge coming from Blaise, something horrible for him. He felt him _melt_. He felt anxiety and shame, then guilt, then happiness and longing. Nostalgia. Care, the _good_ care, the almost-in-love care. So close to love, so dangerously near what Harry would call romantic feelings towards someone. And then, arousal.

Harry was bewildered. Who was this person that was making Blaise feel like this? Who was it, so he could strangle her and take Blaise with him? Harry flinched again at his own thoughts, but showed nothing. Ron hadn't noticed his internal rage.

Harry was going through the list of Slytherins that might be on Blaise's flat now and realized there were no girls, for no girl in their year had lived through the war and he didn't know of any Slytherin girl Blaise might be friends with –and he knew everyone Blaise considered a friend or acquaintance. That meant there were only guys. So it was a guy that made Blaise feel like this, which would have been good in other circumstances if Harry weren't so pissed.

_He's cheating on me_, he thought. Then realized he wasn't Blaise's _anything_. Their link didn't join them romantically. Not even in a friendly way, just in a need-to-survive kind of way. At least, that's what he thought. _What Blaise seems to think_, thought Harry bitterly.

After Ron left, Blaise's feelings kept nagging at him, mocking him. On bed, he touched himself when a wave of pleasure rushed through him so hard he cried Blaise's name, muffled against his fist. He came all over. And then he was ashamed, for he had come with Blaise's sensations running through his brain, with what the other was feeling when being fucked by this mysterious someone. Because Harry knew that was what was happening while he was fondling his balls. The feeling of surrender and submission was too strong. And the release almost made him cry tears of pain and pleasure and _anger_.

For he now realized he wanted to be the only one who made Blaise feel like that.

*

Blaise came the next day. Harry was still angry and he knew Blaise felt it.

"Why were you so mad yesterday?" the other asked. "I could hardly concentrate on my mates; your emotions were running like crazy!"

He looked a little upset, but Harry knew better. He felt his nervousness, his uneasiness. Blaise _knew_ why he was angry, but he didn't understand it. Harry was sure of it, could see it on the way he avoided his eyes, fidget with his sweater and tap his foot against the floor.

Harry leaned forward where he was sitting on the couch. Blaise flinched.

"_Hardly_ concentrate? I'm sorry to digress, but you were _quite_ concentrated and actually had little chance to feel me, didn't you?"

"That's impossible, Harry," murmured Blaise. "You know I could feel you all day."

Harry laughed bitterly and inched closer. Blaise looked at him, brow furrowed.

"Sure it's impossible, Blaise. As impossible as it is to feel your feelings? To feel you _aroused_? To be rolling on my bed, unable to sleep because you were fucking someone's brains out? I thought those were impossible too, but you prove me wrong!"

Blaise got so red Harry was worried he would explode. He seemed embarrassed, but Harry felt anger coming from him mixed with embarrassment, of course, and indignation.

"You said you could block me!"

"Not when you're _that_ strong."

"What?" he asked confused.

"Whoever it was, you were so turned on I couldn't block it."

This time, Blaise blushed only from embarrassment, though he still looked mad.

"Sorry. Won't happen again," he said.

"Of course it won't," answered Harry.

At the amused and mocking glance Blaise gave him, Harry frowned. He leaned a little forward again, but this time Blaise didn't flinch.

"Are you going to forbid me to see someone? To have casual sex with old schoolmates? I'm your battery, _Potter_, not your friend. Neither your property nor your lover. Not your partner or your boyfriend. So stay away from my private life."

This caught Harry off guard. He wasn't expecting it, Blaise seeing through him so good. Seeing his jealousy for what it was. But he recovered soon.

"I won't," he dared to say.

"Excuse me?" Blaise asked taken aback.

Harry, though, knew he had won. For Blaise had let him see for a millisecond what he was feeling. And it made Harry grin. Like a mad man. For he saw excitement, nervousness, anxiety and _want_. He felt corresponded. He knew now that Blaise felt the same way, probably always had. Probably was as mad at him when Harry brought some random person to his house. And he felt something else. He felt lust. As hot and vibrant as Blaise had felt it the day before with the mysterious classmate.

No. It was _stronger_. And he knew why. They both knew why. They had taken this bond _beyond_ its limits. They were _partners_. They made themselves more intimate with each other than needed. They confided in the other, they knew their inner feelings therefore they knew what made them happiest and saddest. And they _cared_. They put the other at ease, they cheered each other up. Harry wanted Blaise to be happy as much as Blaise wanted Harry to be happy. They were happiest and in peace with the world when the other was.

If that wasn't love, well, he didn't know what it was then.

But Blaise didn't know it. Only Harry did. Only Harry saw it for what it was. They loved each other deeply, maybe just because they could feel each other and had forcefully started to care for the other's feelings. Even so, Harry knew he wouldn't be able to live without Blaise and he also knew that was reciprocal. He knew that if Blaise was sad, he'd run to his aide. That if Blaise needed something, he'd cross the world to get it. It was, if not love, an unknown feeling for him that was very similar to it. And it wasn't forced anymore. He _wanted_ to care. Wanted to do it. He wanted Blaise to be with him all the time. Only with him, his eyes only for him, his mind only thinking of Harry as Harry's only thought was Blaise.

"You know, don't you?" Harry asked softly.

Blaise didn't answer, but his cocky expression disappeared. He turned. He stared at some point in the wall. Harry started to get upset. Blaise felt it, he let him feel it. Stronger than it actually was. Until Blaise finally turned to him.

"There's nothing, Harry," he said. "It's the _bond_, don't confuse your feelings. I feel them too, what you're feeling. What you _think_ you're feeling. It's not love. At least, not a love different than the one a TV could have for the plug on the wall."

Harry frowned.

"Do you really think that?" he asked furious again, for Blaise's calmness always infuriated him. "Or is that what you've made yourself believe?"

Blaise didn't say a word. He only sighed and let his head fall into his hands, his hair hiding him from view. Harry touched his head, touched his hair, let his fingers massaged his scalp and entangle on his locks. His brown reddish locks, so pretty. So soft.

"Isn't that the best thing to believe?" murmured the other between his hands.

Harry grinned. He had won. So he leaned forward, kneeled in front of Blaise and tugged gently on his hair. Hazel eyes were looking at him again. They were full of emotions. So many of them that for a moment, Harry thought he didn't need the link to feel what Blaise was feeling, since he was feeling the same and he was seeing them on those eyes. And he also thought that finally Blaise had put down his walls completely and given in to his feelings.

So he leaned forward again, this time only his upper body, finding his way through those knees, gently putting them apart so his face could reach the other. So his lips could touch the other lips. And he kissed Blaise. Chastely at first, passionately later. He felt hands tangling and tugging at his black locks, but he couldn't care less. His hands were roaming, holding, touching what they could over the bulky sweater.

"Let me get you out of this ridiculous sweater," he whispered over the kisses, tugging at the hem.

Blaise chuckled, but let himself be undressed. Harry grinned and pushed him against the back of the sofa, accommodating both of them on the loveseat. His body fitted perfectly above Blaise's, his legs between the other's, his eyes glued to the naked chest in front of him, his hands still touching, still caressing. Worshipping.

"You too," Blaise murmured.

So Harry took his shirt off. And leaned down, straight for Blaise's lips, kissing him eagerly and pressing against him and feeling him moan when their groins pushed against each other. And they started to move, slow at first, faster later, till they were panting and gasping and moaning.

"Harry," Blaise breathed. And Harry was so aroused by it that he gasped and gulped and undressed them both completely.

"Harry!" cried Blaise.

Harry smiled. With love. With lust. And got a smile in response with the same feelings. So he kissed Blaise on the forehead and asked him silently, with his eyes, what he really wanted. He got his answer in the same way, eyes roaming over his body before they settled on his eyes again, with trust and love and care and utter submission. Then, Blaise was face down on the loveseat. Harry almost came.

Soon they were moaning louder. Blaise panted, fingers sliding into him, making him contort against the sofa, briefly worried about the stains they might leave. Harry bit his right shoulder, making him groan and whimper and almost forget about the third finger brushing his insides. _Almost_ forget the feelings.

Harry couldn't though. He was intoxicated. He was bewitched with Blaise's reactions, with his voice and his movements and his body and his smell. All his senses were on high alert, hypersensitive all over. And the moans and pants and small cries the other was giving made him almost crazy. Almost. Not enough though, not nearly enough to make him lose control. So he tortured him with pleasure, made him feel a little of what he felt last night.

And he was whispering things. Things that made Blaise blush. Things about how hot he looked, how wanton he moved. How _tight_ he was. And Blaise moaned with each sentence and stroke and push and thrust. Each word intensified the feelings for him, therefore the feelings for Harry too. So he kept talking, kept saying how much he loved him, how much he wanted him. How much he wanted to be _in_ him.

"Stop this," begged Blaise. "Please, just –"

"Just…?"

"Harry!" Blaise shrieked.

Harry grinned maliciously. Blaise groaned and thrust back, into Harry's fingers. So Harry wasn't so mean, he knew Blaise was about to break. He could feel it. So he took his fingers out and thrust. So hard. So strong. Holding the narrow hips with firm hands, nuzzling the brown reddish hair with his nose, savoring the moans and whimpers and that small little sob.

"Want me to stop?" he whispered.

"No," was the answer, so soft he would've lost it if he were a little farer.

So he caressed those hips, he kissed those shoulders that were now trembling. Blaise chuckled and smiled and hold his right hand on his own right hand and kissed it. And Harry was beaming, thrusting into his lover's body with tenderness. And Blaise was smiling all the while, pushing backwards, moaning at the same time he moaned. And saying how good it was, how good it felt. And Harry knew it was for real. This was for real.

_They_ were for real.

"You're beautiful," he breathed against his cheek. Blaise laughed softly and moaned quietly. "You make me crazy," said Harry, "… lose control. You are _so_ beautiful… so…"

But he couldn't talk anymore. Neither could Blaise. He bit on his forearm and pressed his forehead on Harry's hand. Harry felt it, the peak. The love and lust, the desire and submission, the trust and the letting-go. All coming from Blaise. _All_ his own too. This bond was no spell. This bond was forged by them.

He cried. And he kept crying as he came inside him and afterwards. Blaise felt him; he was also overwhelmed, Harry could tell. He couldn't utter a word, he was whimpering and choking and breathing so hard that he could've been having a panic attack. Only that it was pleasure what they were feeling, the purest pleasure one could feel, for no one would ever be as connected as they were. And so Harry cried, happy tears of joy while he kissed his _love_, not lover.

When they both have calmed down, he hugged Blaise and stayed there, listening to his breathing, observing his profile, his upturned lips, his closed eyes, his peaceful semblance.

"I really do."

"I know."

They loved each other. It was an agreement that Harry was comfortable to accept.

"Have you known? For a long time, I mean?" asked Blaise, slurring a little, still caught up on the after sex dazzle.

"I think I saw it coming."

Blaise laughed. Harry relished on that laugh and he was almost ready to lock it up and keep it to himself. Just now he realized how precious Blaise was for him. How much he deeply cared for him, how much the same they both were. And he hugged him tightly before getting off of him. Blaise turned to look at him, a look of admiration and devotion and love clear on his face. Harry knew he looked the same and smiled. Took his hand and led him to the bedroom. It was only midday, but they could use a nap after a hot shower. They needed it. They wanted it. Without asking, it was the perfect way to end this peak of their intimacy.

Harry was happy.

And Blaise now had his answer to that question that always puzzled him, for now he would know what to say when asked about his happiest moment ever.

_Fin_

* * *

_Any comments will be welcomed, if they're either constructive or relevant. No flames, please.  
Thanks for reading :D_


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